


It's A Kind of Magic

by LadyAmalthea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Swan Princess (1994), M/M, Mutual Pining, Oviposition, Shapeshifting, Swans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26900299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAmalthea/pseuds/LadyAmalthea
Summary: A long-forgotten prince, cursed to shift into a swan during daylight.A former knight with an instinct to protect, resigned to be alone for the rest of his years.Their fates intertwine in a way neither could expect.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	It's A Kind of Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Connor is written specifically vague so as not to imply any specific genitalia, so it's up to your own interpretation!
> 
> Big big big big thank you to goldengan for beta- and sensitivity reading for me, and to blackeyedblonde for the inspiration <3

Beauty came at a steep price. At least, for a young prince by the name of Connor.

He was renowned for the way he made heads turn, and though not arrogantly vain, he was caught preening near mirrors many times a day. He was poised, and a talented dancer. Those who watched him claimed him as elegant as a swan.

One afternoon he was practicing by a lake, only stopping to rinse the sweat upon his brow with it's clear water. He caught a glimpse of himself, smiling, and imagined himself just as those in court had described him. As a swan: handsome and free.

Something, he never knew what, had heard his silent wish, and as the morning sun rose over the glistening water, an odd force suddenly overtook him. When he looked into the water again, he was indeed a swan. His feathers just slightly iridescent, shining and glittering with the sun’s light against the surface of the lake. 

Of course, this was so many years ago. 

The magic kept him young, aging him so much more slowly, and his years went by as he constantly changed form. 

For so long, he would avoid all other swans as he could. He hoped it would wear off, or perhaps he could take back his wish somehow. But that never came to pass. He avoided people too, and the stories of the lost prince dwindled. He was all but forgotten.

So finally, late in a balmy winter, he finally gave in to the desires of his wild needs. He was lucky, a gentle swan found him on a rainy afternoon when his feathers hadn’t looked so different. 

There isn't a strong connection between them, but the deed was done, and Connor realized he must find somewhere to nest.

It proved that fortune was not in his favor.

A long walk from his lake, Connor found an empty structure that must have once been used for storing wood and wheat. It wasn't perfect, but he thought he would have plenty of time to prepare.

And then, a week later, he saw humans again for the first time in many years. 

They seemed angry at first, because of the nest. But when they saw his feathers, they decided he must be worth a good price. They managed to capture him, even dragged him, squawking and struggling to the market. 

And then someone cried out, "What if it's cursed? It will bring ruin to us all!" 

Many began to argue, and as Connor tried to slip away, a group of them began to chase him. It was hard to fly, thick rope around his legs and his wings already tired from straining before, but he needed to get as far as he could before the evening arrived. 

He landed on a branch for a moment to catch his breath, taking off with a second wind only for an arrow to clip one of his wings. 

It hurt so much, his flight suffering severely but he had to keep going. He couldn’t beat his wings, but he could glide as he bit back the pain. Thanks to a thick river with no bridge nearby, he had enough time to make an escape, and made a hard landing into the tall grass.

No sooner he considered himself safe, he startled at the bark of a dog.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

It was a quiet life in the woods, but Hank preferred it that way.

He had always been rough around the edges, had a hard time letting anyone break through his shell.

Once, he did live in town. He was the protecting knight of a lovely little village, happy and content where he was. And then, a harsh sickness came, his family lost to him in mere weeks. 

Now, it was only him, and his loyal dog.

He had left after that, heartbroken and inconsolable. Out among the trees, in the cottage where he was raised, did he find some sense of peace. A garden, a fresh spring not a half mile's walk, and a cozy home to sleep in, he made a comfortable life to drive away the loneliness and loss. 

His father's trade finally became his: the cellar with a dozen racks of wine which he brought to town once a year. He would collect wild grapes, mix it with the ones in his garden. 

The strawberries and raspberries of the peak of spring are what brought him out that late afternoon. He had been working around the house to ready it for the changing seasons, and tending to the young garden, so that by the evening all he wanted was a peaceful walk. 

He found a lush patch, not far from the river, and fought with a few thorny vines to get to the bright red fruit.

The sun was falling with every minute he searched, the first growing cool and damp.

He finished as the colored clouds of dusk dappled beautiful colors of light through the treetops. Crickets sang in the grass, and he whistled an old song as he started down the path.

"Sumo, c'mon! Let's go home!"

Something rustled in the trees beyond, and he heard Sumo's brash barking from across a small hillside. "Sumo?!"

The barks got closer, and he saw the dog's head appear behind a patch of bushes before disappearing again.

He sighed; Sumo wasn't usually this playful. But with the dog getting on in years, so it was a welcome sight. 

Going off the dirt trail, he followed the hound down toward the reeds of the stream nearby. It was getting dark, but they would be fine in this part of the forest.

"What did you find, pup?" He asked, and then nearly dropped his basket when he found the dog again.

Specks of blood stain the edges of a few blades of the long grass, and he quickly pulled away the rustling plants to find a large swan.

He is beyond words, gazing down at a magnificent swan. In the light of the colored sky, the feathers seemed to shine, and then he spotted the stains of angry red clinging to the bird's right wing. 

He wanted to get a better look at it, but the bird struggled, terrified and frantic when Hank met its eyes. 

"Let me help. Please-" 

The good wing flaps, and Hank also sees that there’s a rope knotted around its legs. "I'll get this for you, at least."

He reaches for his knife as the sky dims with night's approach. The feathers began to glow brightly, twinkling like stars and almost blinding, and Hank fell backwards from where he was to kneel in shock.

The swan…  _ grew _ , and  _ changed. _ Hank blinked hard, and held Sumo close to him.

Feathers faded away, replaced with soft, freckled skin. 

It didn’t seem real, he thought he must have been dreaming.

Where the strange swan was just thrashing, it was replaced with a handsome, shivering young man, covered with a modest, if thin, white tunic.

"Holy shit." Hank utters out loud.

The man groaned, wincing as he brought the injured arm closer to his chest. 

"What are- how did y-" Hank questioned as they flew through his head, but set them aside. "Your arm, it's- Well, we should wrap it."

Nodding, the stranger relaxed just slightly. "Mmmhmm." 

"You can understand me, that’s good at least." Hank breathed with relief as he fished in his pack for some loose fabric. It's a little gauzy, and quickly soaks up the mess of blood. He grazed the wound briefly, causing a sharp whimper. "Easy there, I'm sorry!" 

"It’s-”

The air leaves Hank's throat when he hears him speak.   
  


"It's all right." 

The man offered a strained smile with his words, looking at his bandaged arm gratefully. "If you don't mind, my legs are still bound."

"Y-yeah," Hank nods dumbly. "Right. Right, umm-" 

He retrieved his knife, sawing at the ropes around the now-human ankles, and he is still unconvinced that this isn't some strange dream that he’ll wake from at any moment.

Sumo's patience to stand by had all but faded, and he had no problem approaching the stranger with a lick to the face. The young man giggled, appreciative, and returned the sentiment by leaning in closer to nuzzle the oafish creature. 

"That's Sumo, couldn't harm a thing if he tried."

"Hello, Sumo," cood the stranger, his good hand scratching the dog's chin, which dripped with drool.

The ropes are cut, and tossed to the side, "Do you think you can walk?"

"I must try, at least."

It is rough getting up, for both of them, as the wounded man seemed to be aching and sore all over. They both managed to get upright, but the young man leans heavily onto Hank, eyelids fluttering as his legs weakly wobble.

Hank clicks his tongue, pointing toward the basket of berries, and Sumo obediently takes the handle in his mouth as Hank leans down to put his arm behind the man's knees and lifts him up. "There now, it isn't too far to the path," he says. 

Was it foolish, perhaps, to trust and care so quickly?

The creature seemed truly in need, even when injured and threatened he didn't lash out at Hank. And regardless of why, or how, a swan shifted into a handsome man before his very eyes… Hank couldn't just leave him. Not when he could protect such a creature from the greedy monsters of humanity. 

"Thank you," the brunet said into the fabric of his jacket.

He hummed in acknowledgment, and they reached his home in the wood as the stars poked through the deep blanket of the night sky above. The cottage was warm from the slowly-burning wood in the fireplace, where a stew of root vegetables and bright herbs whad been bubbling. 

Hank gently laid him on the woven rug near the homely afire, "I'm sure I have something to treat your arm. Just warm yourself for a moment."

The stranger obeyed, and Hank gathered fresh wrapping and an extra pot to make some fresh tea. He still didn't understand how this had happened, or what would be best to do. Maybe he should ask, now that he knows the man can speak and everything. 

Such as…  _ Why was he a swan?! And then not?! _

Hank knew little of magic, convinced it was just for old legends and fantastical tales. Over his shoulder, he snuck a glance to the mysterious figure by the fire, and his thoughts reeled at the uncanny beauty sitting neatly as he looked over his injured arm curiously.

He really was like a swan: movements so smooth, creamy skin that accentuated his dark hair and warm eyes. The modestly-covering tunic was a little tattered at the edges, yet still fairly clean; Hank shook himself to stop from staring for too long. 

When he set a pot of water to boil for tea, he kneeled across from his guest and reached out for the bleeding arm. "Should disinfect that."

At his side he had set a bottle of a witch hazel brew, and he soaked a cloth in it as the arm was draped over his lap so he could work. The temporary wrapping was unraveled carefully, revealing the ripped flesh to the air once more which made the mysterious man keen. When the witch hazel was applied, it wasn't much better, and Hank could see him tense up like he was about to bolt right out of the cottage. 

But he didn't, did little more than squirm beneath Hank's rough but skilled hands. More blood was lost, but the arm was cleaned and rewrapped by the time the pot of tea began to bubble and darken to a rosy, amber hue.

Hank arranged a simple meal at the table, one of his extra bowls seeing use for the first time in so long. He poured the robust tea into large cups, "You don't need to drink all of that, if it’s too much," Hank stressed. 

He blew a cooling breath across his filled spoon, content when his actions were mirrored and his company seemed to enjoy the meal with such reverence. 

"I take it you haven't had a hot meal in a while?"

Brown eyes avoided his briefly, before flickering up, "It has been many years. I admit my own attempts were never very good. So I stopped trying."

"Oh." Hank's mind screamed to ask if it had anything to do with that other form he was in, but he was afraid to press on that matter if it proved unpleasant. "So… what happened to your arm?"

"I was… being hunted."

"An arrow, then?" Hank asked, a sinking feeling in his gut.

The man nodded thoughtfully, "Yes, but luckily for me their aim was poor." He returned to his soup, only to yawn widely and lean a good elbow on the table. 

"You should get some sleep, it's getting late. You can take my cot, I'll climb into the loft."

A frown turned on the stranger's lips, "I shouldn't… you don't even know my name, yet you offer me so much, so freely." 

It isn't a fact Hank can argue, but it is a problem he can alleviate. "Then tell me. Let me know you."

The man's eyelids fluttered tiredly despite the tension in the air between them, and he caught himself listing to one side. "My name is Connor," he said, another yawn interrupting him. "And… I…"

Hank raised from his seat, and rested a hand on a soft, bare shoulder. "Tell me more in the morning, but for now, you need to sleep." He escorted Connor up to the loft, just behind on the ladder with a downy quilt over his shoulder. The hay piled high, but could still hold off a chill when the nights got cold. His guest was cozied up and asleep in mere moments. That face looked so innocent, if troubled even in sleep; Hank couldn't help but stare a moment too long at such beauty. 

What Connor needed, Hank deduced, was a good, reliable friend. A warm place to sleep and food for an empty belly was easy enough to provide, but Hank knew he had to earn more trust and faith before he could truly understand what his story was. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


When Connor awoke, sunlight streamed in through a small window at the top of the mountain of hay. He could feel that the transformation had already occurred, neck long as he stretched under the heavy weight of the blanket. He shifted so he was on top of it, curled up comfortably with his webbed feet tucked beneath him. 

The fabric that had wrapped his arm fell away, but the wound was healing nicely thanks to the disinfectant that his host applied.

He stretched his wings for a moment too, carefully as he felt the difference between them as the injury ached beneath his feathers. 

Connor sighed; the sweet-smelling fodder around him would make a lovely nest, but he had to will away the instinct. He should leave well before the eggs would be due, perhaps he would still have enough time to start a fresh nest somewhere close by.

It terrified him; he had no mate to look after him, to help him build a nest and see him through this ordeal that waited for him. Even now he could feel the beginnings of new life inside him, but had no possible way to know how many, if they were healthy, if the human part of him would affect them, somehow. 

He didn't hear that his host was awake until a breathy groan came from the ladder.

"Good mor- oh!" 

Wide blue eyes pierced into his changed form, "You're back to… you're a swan again."

Connor sounded a low, agreeing call, turning away to tuck his head closely. He was still tired, too nervous to even glide down from the comfortable loft. Hopefully he would be allowed to stay just a little longer.

He wanted to learn more about his rescuer, too.

The man looked around, scratching at his head. "Why don't I bring you some fruit, and uh… well shit, I don't know what else you eat." He disappeared, and when he returned he had a shallow basket with a variety of things. A bit of grain, fruits and leafy greens of the early spring season, a medley of options that Connor was more than eager to feed on. He offered a small bow of his head before starting to pick at what was offered. 

It seemed to make his companion happy, because he sat beside Connor in the loft and watched him carefully eat. He seemed curious, maybe even a little amused as Connor fed.   
  
“I’m glad you have an appetite, means you’re healing,” he said thoughtfully. “Not sure if you wanna be stuck up here, I could try to carry you down if you feel up for a walk later?”

Connor looked at him softly, giving a low honk and a nod.

“Good, good.” He stayed only a little longer before turning toward the ladder again, “I have a few more chores to take care of, but I’ll be back.”

The privacy was welcome, and Connor used the time to prune his feathers and rest a little more as day quickly approached dusk. His wing was still terribly sore, but not quite as tender, and it was painless enough to stretch his legs as he explored the sweet-smelling loft of hay.

True to his word, the man returned, complete with a wicker basket with straps attached. “I usually use this to haul supplies from the village, but I think it’s big enough to hold you until we get down.

Connor didn’t weigh too much, so he was easily lifted into the basket and carried down the steep ladder to the ground floor. Before he knew it he was lifted again, large hands mindful of his injury. “There now, there we go.”

He settled to the soft, age-worn floor, ruffling his feathers and starting a little too excitedly toward the door.

When Connor turned to his savior, waiting for it to be opened, he saw a wry, toothy grin. "Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'," he said, whistling for his dog to lumber over and join. 

The afternoon sunshine was warm on his wings, and the crickets were already singing as night approached. He tried to be patient, missing the calming buoyancy of floating on the water. Or, even better, when he could stand on his own two feet again. His webbed feet felt so cumbersome, the least delicate and coordinated part of him. 

Night couldn't come soon enough. 

He was led down a forest path. There were a few steps that were a bit on a challenge, a log or two in the way, but he could hear the sound of rushing water before he could see it. With a  _ honk _ he started ahead, flapping as much as he could without worsening the ache, and skimmed across the water happily in the forest river near a small waterfall. 

"Thought you might like this spot."

Even the massive, fluffy dog splashed into the water, ensuring to soak his master when he returned to the beach to shake it all off. 

"Ah, damn it Sumo!" The man called out mirthfully. "Still a puppy in there, eh?"

Connor continued to float about, experimenting by wading over to the falls, the spray somehow calming upon his face. 

He had hardly noticed how late it had gotten, until he felt that strange tingling at the very core of him that his form would change soon. His eyes closed so he could focus, calming himself as everything moved under his skin. The feathers faded away, and he grew heavier as his feet reached the bottom of the pool. 

His face turned upward, the fall drenching his chestnut locks, relishing in the feeling of it washing his back.

When he looked at the nearby shore, stepping out of the stream's shower, he was met with wide, surprised eyes. So similar as they were when he changed this morning.

"You're... again…"

"Yes," Connor confirmed with a shy smile, stepping closer. "Strange, is it not?"

He is met with a series of blinks, like the man's eyes can't believe what they are seeing. "Y-yeah. Yeah, I'll say." A hand reaches curiously toward Connor's arm, "Is it… how does it feel?"

Connor looked at his own arm. The wound was ugly and a bit raw, only just starting to scab over. He frowned, "It will take some time to heal." He allows his arm to be inspected, then softly asked: "May I ask for your name, sir?"

"Uhhh, right," he says, cheeks gone red. "Sorry for, not introducing myself properly. This has all happened at once and-" he gulped. "I'm Hank." 

"Hmmmm," Connor pondered for a moment before taking Hank's hands into his own. "Thank you, Hank, for showing me such kindness." His face grew somber, and he was read like an open book.

"Stay with me for a while, Connor," Hank offered with a soft smile. "Not sure what kind of horrid folk would try to take down a swan, but maybe it would be best for you to lay low for a while." Their hands broke apart slowly, and Hank already missed the soft touch.

"You are probably right," Connor agreed, stepping toward the riverbank to wring out his simple frock. "I will do what I can to help in the evening, when I am in this form."

Hank shrugged, "Whatever you like," he replied. "Nothin' says you have to, and only when that arm is healed well enough."

"All right, then."

Before Hank goes to bed for the night, he catches a glimpse of Connor sitting by candlelight, reading one of the books from his small collection. He wondered how long it had been since Connor had read, had  _ held _ a book, because he treats it with such tender care. It isn’t a fancy book by any means; handwritten by a friend with tales of the old kingdom that once was. 

Hank doesn’t even know who is in power now. He’s perfectly content out here where the rest of the world can’t bother him. And yet… Connor’s company doesn’t feel like a hindrance.   
  
Maybe it was just that Hank had spent so long on his own, he forgot how nice company can be. Or maybe it’s that deep-seated instinct to protect the hurt and the innocent of the world.

Whatever it could be, he bid Connor a good night before going to sleep, wondering if he would again find the swan resting there in the morning.

  
  
  
  


There was little Connor could do to help around the house while Hank worked, confined to his other form. He would spend most afternoons sleeping in the taller grass by the garden. He was hesitant to venture out on his own, but in the early evenings he would join Hank and Sumo as they foraged and washed up in the nearby stream. 

Things changed slowly, but it did not go unnoticed. A week went by, then two.

Connor helped where he could, tidying the cabin during the late nights alone when Hank was asleep and he couldn’t rest. He was wary of going outside, but sometimes he would venture outside to go to the root cellar, or accompanied by Sumo to get fresh water, and have breakfast ready for Hank before he returned to his feathered form.

But he wanted more.

He knew Hank was just being polite, only the occasional touch or a brush of their fingers as they walked side by side to and from home. After years of isolation, Connor had been used to the lack of contact, but now that it was so close he truly ached for it again. He wanted to embrace Hank from behind as he washed his hands, and tuck himself beside Hank in his bed where it would be soft and warm.

There was a hole in his chest that hadn’t been there before, and Hank was the only one who could fill it. But that terrified him.

How could he say anything? It was enough that Hank took him in, tended to his arm and let him sleep in the hay loft. It was all the more tempting in his human form with every passing day, and he found himself sleeping more during the day so he could make the most of his hours with legs and hands.

  
  
  


"Good evening," Connor called out as he descended the stairs to the loft, sleep still weighing down his eyelids. 

"Hello there, sleeping beauty," Hank teased affectionately. "I'm making tea."

Yawning, Connor stretched before bending down to give Sumo a pat on the head. "That sounds lovely."

And then he felt something, a heavy weight shifting inside of him.

"Oh-" He wobbled, clutching his belly and leaning onto a nearby chair. Hank was beside him in an instant. 

"Easy there, what's wrong? Are you sick?" He put a hand on Connor's shoulder, looking down quizzically to the spot Connor was trying to cover. "Are you hurt again?"

"N-no, I-" He paused. Nervously, Connor took Hank's hand to replace his own on his abdomen, sliding down until he knew Hank could feel the eggs pressing against his skin from inside. “I’m sorry, I-I should have told you,” he said, rushing to take another breath in and try to explain himself.    
  
Hank is silent, brows pinched in worry as he lets his hand caress Connor’s bump. He released a sigh, stuttered and uncertain.

“When you found me, I was running for my life. I-I needed a nest; I’ve never done this before, I hardly knew if it was possible since I changed from night to day and back again and I...” He choked up, a hand flying to his mouth. “Please, don’t make me leave.”   
  
“Why would I-” Hank shook his head, smiling painfully as he drew Connor into an embrace. “I could never do that. And certainly not to you.” 

Connor let himself heave a sob, large, wet tears staining Hank’s shirt at the shoulder. “Thank you,” He whispered, shivering again. “It feels so strange.”

“You should sit down. Here,” Hank broke them apart to settle Connor down into a seat at the table, falling to his knees before Connor, hands held tightly. “You’re safe here, I promise that to you. I don’t… it’s selfish of me, but I don’t want you to leave. Not ever.”

“You don’t?” Connor asked, giving Hank a soft look. 

“Especially now, and... I don’t want to make you feel burdened to me in any way, but you- you’ve brought such light back into my life. I’ve lost so much, and I’ve grieved, and I never thought that pain would end. You make everything feel warm and alive again.” He bowed his head, “If you don’t feel the same about me, I understand but I won’t-”   
  
“Of course I do.”

Hank perked up, looking at Connor like he was the sun and the stars.

“I’ve been gripped by this curse, this constant change of my form, for so many years. I was so resolved to stay alone, because it was too painful to try and explain what happens to me each dawn.” He brought Hank’s hands up to his face, kissing each of them at the knuckles. “You care for me, you sheltered me even in my unnatural circumstances.”

Huffing, Hank let his chin rest upon Connor’s knee. “ _ Super _ -natural, sure. But nothing about you is unnatural.”   
  


Connor smiled sadly, “The ones who shot at me would say otherwise.”

“Never again, my love. I’ll never let that happen to you.” Hank promised. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Despite Connor’s protests, Hank insisted he no longer sleep in the loft. Everything seemed to go faster after that. Especially in the daytime when Connor was a swan, he could feel the weight of the eggs growing, waddling across the lawn tiredly with each day that he got closer to the eggs being ready. He didn’t know how long it usually took, but perhaps with his constant changing of form it had been delayed already.

Connor thinks he knows that it’s coming, the day that it happens. He doesn’t say anything to Hank, not wanting to alarm him or stress him out any more than he already was. Hank had been so good, and so careful with him. He still felt their budding love was such a fragile thing and he feared overstepping in some way. Although Hank wouldn’t have seen it like that, and Connor could hold out. 

He gave Hank hints subtly during the day when he was a swan, from not eating too much of his daily greens and herbs, to walking a little slower than usual to the bubbling stream and waterfall. The weightlessness of the shallow pool was a welcome relief, torn away as he shifted and stood in the water on his feet.    
  
His belly had filled out, which now rounded out under the pale blue tunic Hank had given him to wear. They walked back to the house as the evening crickets chirped, the air damp but cool, hands clasped together as they retreated inside for the night. 

Hank had hardly been asleep for an hour or so when Connor roused him. 

He was crouched beside the bed, panting heavily with a fishful of the soft quilt in one hand and the other wrapped around his middle. Groaning, he called out for Hank, who bolted out of bed once he was awake enough to understand what was happening. 

Carefully, Hank helped Connor up onto the bed, leaving only for a moment to get a basin of water and a few towels. 

The sound that came from Connor was pained and guttural. He laid on his side, but looked up to give Hank a pleading look. “Can you… can you hold me?”

Of course, Hank was happy to oblige, climbing onto the bed and settling against the headboard. He pulled Connor closer so he was between Hank’s legs, the perfect spot for Hank to place soft kisses in his hair and be a warm, comforting weight for Connor to lean on. Connor’s britches were already off, and the hem of his tunic was bunched up at his waist. 

“O-ohhhh-” he moaned, a fresh layer of sweat dripping down his forehead. 

Hank felt Connor’s body tense up, his hips rose up slightly as he pushed. 

“Nice and slow, honey,” Hank said softly, placing a cold, wet cloth to Connor’s head and neck. “Let me know if you need to change positions.”

Throwing his head back, Connor relaxed back into Hank, breathing hard, and he reached a shaking hand between his legs.

  
“I can… I can feel it there,” he gasped. 

Hank knew swan eggs were sizable, and some could be a little oblong, but he saw a strength in Connor with each push that was so unwavering… if anyone could do this, it was him. “Easy now, you’re all right, my love.”

Connor cried out as the first egg emerged, only getting it part of the way before needing to pause to breathe and collect himself. He held tight to Hank’s hand, body shaking, and giving another bout of effort as the egg tumbled onto the sheet. 

Leaning to check on it, Hank’s mouth dropped open, even as Connor panted and pressed on his belly. “A-another one, I can’t stop-”

“Go on, you’re all right,” Hank comforted, rubbing the white knuckles of Connor’s hand as he worked to expel the next egg. 

Head thrown back, Connor grunted as he coerced the next one out, already feeling others following close behind. His hips and muscles protested, the pressure growing almost unbearable. He shut his eyes tight, tears leaking from the corners of them as the second one came out, another close behind. Hank moved from behind him to the end of the bed, making sure each egg was warm and snuggled in a nest of time-worn towels. 

Three… four… five…

Hank could see Connor’s belly get smaller with each one, but as the sixth approached, Hank silently prayed for Connor’s sake that he was almost done. It slid out onto the bed, followed closely by a smaller seventh, and Connor’s body relaxed with relief. 

He turned toward the window, brows furrowed. “H-hank?”

Confused at first, Hank glanced at the window as a soft breeze gently rustled the curtain, and then it hit him…

It was well after sunrise.

Before Hank could stop him, Connor was groaning as he sat up, breaths shallow and fast. “I don’t- I don’t understand.” His eyes fluttered as Hank went to his side, shushing him and making him lay back down.

“Just rest for now,” he urged, despite Connor’s resistance.

  
“But how can I keep them warm? How will I t-take care of them?” 

“Shhhhhh,” Hank stroked his cheek, all but pushing Connor back against the pillows. “I’ll keep them safe and warm by the fire. Please, just get some rest.”

After some convincing, and Connor’s exhaustion, he laid down to sleep as Hank nestled each egg into a large basket and carried them to the fireplace in the next room.

They were so warm already, too. Hank isn’t sure what he expected, but it was clear that life was teeming inside each of them. He had things to do outside, knowing that autumn and soon winter would be approaching, but he didn’t feel right leaving them there unattended. And, as much as he trusted Sumo, he promised Connor he would look after them while he rested. 

As the morning went on, it eventually started to drizzle with rain outside, as if nature was giving him permission to just stay inside and tend to the nest of eggs. He puttered around, making tea and a fresh loaf of bread, settled by the basket with a book to read.

It was hard to tell with the rain clouds blocking the sun, but in the early afternoon Connor had woken and padded out of the bedroom. He still seemed a bit unsure, changed from his usual tunic into one of Hank’s clean shirts that hung down to nearly his knees.

“I’ve been keeping them warm, I hope they’re okay in the basket.”

Connor blinked, “I imagine so.” He seemed entranced, unbelieving, as he went to the basket and lifted the cloth away to reveal the large, ivory eggs. He found the smallest one tucked in the middle, and gently caressed the top of the shell. “I don’t… I don’t really know what to do with them. If I don’t turn back, and even if I do, I’m not sure if I can teach them how to survive. If we feed them directly, what if they grow dependent on us?” 

An arm wrapped around his shoulder, Hank’s solid presence settled beside him. “There’s still some time before they hatch to figure it out,” he offered. “I don’t know if I can help, or how, but whatever you need me for, I’ll be here.”

With a heavy sigh, Connor let himself lean into Hank, letting his head rest upon the man’s chest. “Would it be kinder, do you think, to give them up? To find another nest of eggs and hope they’ll be accepted and raised in the wild?”

“You are the only swan I have seen around here in ages, but I could go and search if that is what you wish,” Hank replied, kissing the apple of Connor’s cheek and holding him close. “Whatever it is you need, I’m here with you.”

Connor turned his face, lips grazing Hank’s before returning the kiss in earnest, his heart tenderly racing. “I don’t know what I would do without you,” he whispered against Hank’s skin. “I love you.”

A sound broke them from their trance, a glow and a crackling sound as the cloth covering the basket rustled and shifted. Connor reached down in fear of what had happened to his eggs, only for the cracking to be replaced by a sharp, tiny cry, and the eggs to be replaced with a fussy babe.

Without hesitation, he lifted the little one up in his arms, holding them close and shushing softly. “There now, it’s all right,” he voice trembled. “Is it just you then?”

Hank confirmed as much, looking at the emptied basket with wonder, then inspecting the child in Connor’s arms. “Just when I thought the world couldn’t hold any more surprises.” The crying quieted, and Hank helped wrap the small baby boy in the soft fabrics that lined the basket. “Does he look all right?”

“Yes, yes he’s perfect-” Connor said in awe, beaming at Hank with newfound delight. “I should… I should go into the village and buy milk for him, we’ll need to arrange something to feed him properly.”

“ _ You _ should still be resting,” Hank reminded, but lowered his head so their foreheads were pressed together, and looked down at the magical sight before him with love bursting from his heart.

Whatever strange and beautiful magic had given him Connor, this child, this new purpose, he was grateful with every fiber of his soul, and all of them happy beyond any measure.


End file.
